


Sentimental Paint Jobs

by Saxifactumterritum



Series: Moments universe [4]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Stargate, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 11:19:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19355998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saxifactumterritum/pseuds/Saxifactumterritum
Summary: It happens like this.





	Sentimental Paint Jobs

**Author's Note:**

> no warnings on this one except the usual - i know nothing about the military or flying, if you're looking for accuracy this prob ain't it.
> 
> I owe Cesare's 'Cloud Nine' a debt for Ronon the meterologist https://archiveofourown.org/works/194986 it's an awesome fic 
> 
> [and thanks Popkin16 for knowing all fic ever]

John’s not sure he’ll ever admit how much he doesn’t miss combat. He thought he would, he definitely thought he’d miss the adventure and thrill, he’s always been a bit of an adrenaline junkie. It turns out, though, that once he’s got the sky back, he’s good. He hopped between things for a bit, worked in a toy shop, a cafe, for a big company doing flying lessons, tried out flying for a news crew even. He finally settled into a really tiny company, they do helicopter lessons which is technically John’s job, but there are like six people who are employed full-time, year round, and they do a bit of all sorts, so he ends up doing a lot more. Anything with a helicopter, Ellis Inc. has a go at. Dr Coleman, who’s technician, engineer, mechanic, and all around ‘guy’, lets him help with maintenance, teaching him more about that side of things. Not that he doesn’t know a bunch already, but she knows _everything_. Rodney is wrong, he does not have a crush on her. The company’s run by Ellis, an ex-marine, and he’s happy for John to fulfill his hours puttering about, making sure the choppers are all in order, doing very little paperwork, and filling in whenever something needs to be flown. And there's always Ronon.

 

“You sure you’re good, there?” Ronon asks, eyeing John suspiciously. 

 

“Yep,” John says, squinting into the storm. 

 

Ronon went back to school and requalified as a meteorologist, of all things, when he got out, and now he chases storms with Kanaan, who takes photos and film. John always jokes they must be very quiet adventures. 

 

“Pretty boring,” Ronon says. His voice is tinny over the radio, the storm’s interfering. John can still tell that Ronon's judging his life choices, he definitely thinks John's lost his mind.

 

It’s a pretty big storm. John’s flown through a sandstorm before, but this is _not_ like that. This is wind and clouds and black death. He’s far, far too close. It’s fan-fucking-tastic, and he can’t help whooping as the rotors are caught a bit by the wind and they shoot in entirely the wrong direction. He lets it go, not really wanting the rotor ripping off, and for a few moments they’re at the mercy of the storm as it slowly transforms itself into a hurricane. John waits until he can follow the momentum of the wind and pull away a little bit. 

 

“I think I might prefer Norah’s flying,” Kanaan says, sounding faint. Probably not the storm’s interference, John thinks, running Rodney’s math over the blades and twisting them out of the worst of things. A bolt of lighting blazes all of a sudden and John’s caught, staring. 

 

“Whoa,” he says. 

 

“Norah's got a family thing,” Ronon says. “John needs a bit of excitement in his life.”

 

“I do not,” John says. “Ok, you want to try getting in close again?”

 

“No!” Kanaan yells from the back. 

 

“Hell yeah, go for it,” Ronon says, feeding him data. 

 

John laughs as they dive back in. He really doesn’t miss it, not really. It’s nice to have a little excitement once in a while, Ronon’s right, but he doesn’t miss it when it’s gone. When Norah’s back, John returns to Ellis inc gladly, to the calm quiet, the days that stretch long in front of him with little to do and few people he has to talk to. Back to days when he can finish early if he wants and there’s no flights booked, no lessons, no maintenance to get to, no meetings. He can stop by the university if Rodney’s teaching and they can walk across campus and hold hands, because ‘it’s academia, John, no one cares about a pair of queers in _academia_ ’, and sit in the late-summer sun and drink coffee. Rodney always wants to get away, but John likes to sit and watch the students. Mostly because there’ll usually be at least one who tosses an easy ‘hey Doctor Mac!’ over when they spot Rodney. Rodney’s irascible and doesn’t give a damn about his students, he’s tough, John’s seen it. But they like him anyway. John thinks it’s because he’s straight with them and tells them exactly what he expects. Also because he doesn’t give a damn what kind of effort they put in, he’ll meet it; those who don’t care get nothing, those who plug away at their work get Rodney plugging along beside them, and those who soar get Rodney giving them a shove higher. 

 

“I love you,” John says, his and Rodney’s held hands resting on Rodney’s thigh. He’s a little tired and his body hurts in stupid places from old injuries - the temperature’s going to drop soon. Rodney frowns at him, but John just shrugs. He does love Rodney, why not say it?

 

“Good. Hell, Ronon should consult you about his stupid weather,” Rodney says, fingers digging in against the tense muscles of John’s shoulders. “C’mon, let’s go home, you can have a hot shower and lie down and complain about how much you hurt.”

 

“I’m fine,” John says. 

 

“Oh, yeah, definitely. Stand up on your own, then,” Rodney says, crossing his arms. 

 

John shoves him and does just that. He’s stiff and his knee is being uncooperative, his hip and side feel all twisted up, his back hurts, the knot of scar tissue in his shoulder aches. He sits back down again and scowls. Rodney stands, stretching and cracking his back before hauling John all the way up, arm around his waist. They walk to Rodney’s car parking space like that, and John finds himself grinning stupidly. He always knows which students Rodney teachers because the looks on their faces when they see Rodney grumpily shuffling John along is always classic. 

 

“You do this on purpose,” Rodney says. 

 

“Oh, sure. Got beat up and shot up and crashed a few times just so I could embarrass you eighteen years later,” John says. 

 

“It hasn’t been eighteen years. Stop smiling like that, you look daft,” Rodney says. 

 

Rodney always fobs grading off onto his TAs, so when they get home he just has personal research and projects to work on. He’s consulting on an experimental air-craft at the moment, a private company investing in renewable energy in aviation who want Rodney to work out some energy problems, but that’s been put aside in preference for yelling at Radek over Skype for a while. John lies on the livingroom floor and drowses, half-watching an old black and white Batman cartoon, thinking about flying and his peaceful life. 

 

“I love you,” John says, repeating himself and interrupting a particularly viceral moment in Rodney’s verbal disembowelment of Radek. 

 

He’s looking up at Rodney, evening coming in with some rain, the light dim. Rodney’s lit by the desk-lamp, warm and glowing. He has beautiful broad shoulders and a strangely fragile profile, his features delicate and certain all at once. He looks very sturdy and real. John wants him to turn and look at John, wants to be the focus of Rodney’s attention. Rodney just waves him away and carries on ranting into his computer. Radek’s looking at John, blinking.

 

“Rodney,” Radek starts interrupting. 

 

“What? What? What could you possibly say to defend this nonsense? This is shoddy work and you know it, Zelenka,” Rodney says. 

 

It is shoddy work. John isn’t even close to these guys’ level, but he knows enough to know Rodney’s right. Radek’s distracted. Who knows by what, John doesn’t care. It means Rodney’s working instead of lying in bed with John, or watching Batman with John. 

 

“Yeah, you should do better work, doctor Z,” John calls. 

 

Zelenka swears quite creatively in czech. John’s spent enough time around the little man to know that is very rude. Rodney finishes scribbling big red letters all over Radek’s work, and it only takes a moment to scan it in and send it flitting across to Radek. John’s sure there are plans for these two to argue right through until morning, which is not what he wants. He gets up off the floor (making sure to grunt and hiss in pain, sniff against slight congestion, cough) and limps over to Rodney, caressing his shoulder. 

 

“I’ll cook, while you’re busy,” John says, stroking Rodney’s hair.

 

He shuffles as he goes, leaning on the wall, pausing at the door to breathe before stepping out into the hallway and straightening. He feels much better after his shower. He sticks his hands in his pockets and wanders into the kitchen, humming as he pokes through the cupboards. Rodney comes in after only a few minutes, dragging a stool with him, halfway through solicitously offering to do the cooking so John can rest before he realises that John is absolutely fine. John laughs while Rodney beats him about the head with a dishcloth, falling against Rodney’s chest and holding onto his shoulder he’s laughing so hard. 

 

“I hate you,” Rodney grumbles. “I was worried, you prick.”

 

“You were gonna spend all. Night. Debating a piece of work that is _shoddy_. What’s the point? You know it’s crap, he knows it’s crap, even I know it’s crap,” John says. 

 

“He broke up with… I dunno, someone. It’s my way of being supportive,” Rodney says. John shrugs. Tonight Radek can get his emotional support argument somewhere else. 

 

“Make me dinner, Rodney,” John says, kissing Rodney’s indignation away before he can get it in. “I love you.”

 

“I know you do,” Rodney says, sounding rather surprised about it all the same, a bit stunned. “Do you think if I paid Ellis this consultant fee he’d paint your favourite helicopter rainbow colours?”

 

“No,” John says, laughing again. “God, he so wouldn’t. You do not make nearly enough money.”

 

* * *

 

John turns out to be wrong about that. He pulls into work three months later and there is a mother forking rainbow helicopter waiting on the tarmac, Dr Coleman beaming underneath it waiting for him. Her wife’s pregnant and John wonders if it’s a celebration of the birth, but there are go faster stripes in the bi flag colours, and just under the nose is a little trans flag, and this is a Rodney-McKay-in-a-sentimental mood of a paint job. 

 

“How much did that last job pay him?” John asks, jogging up to Coleman. She just laughs, shoving him into the pilot seat. 

 

“Who cares? Ellis inc needed an injection of funds, and we are going to go flying in your super gay helicopter, Colonel, get in,” Coleman says, running around to get in the co-pilot side. 

 

“We haven’t even put in a flight plan!” John shouts, pulling on the helmet anyway. 

 

“I’ve got you, John,” Chuck says, coming through from the control room. “Sending it across now. Colonel Ellis says you have exactly one joy ride, any more and he’s firing your ‘skinny behind’. I quote.”

 

“Aw, I knew he liked me,” John says. “Right, checks?”

 

“Go ahead,” Chuck says. 

 

 _Base, this is Shep,_ John thinks, grinning so widely his cheeks hurt. He loves flying, he loves flying and he really loves that no one is shooting at him. He can take his time, test the wind, really think about the math. Coleman loves flying, too, it turns out; she screams the entire time, which startles John at first but he quickly interprets it as slightly hysterical joy. Half the company is ex military, and more than that are queer, and there’s a reason John fits in here. No one’s going to be anything but elated by this. Even when he’s landed he feels like he’s still up there, walking metres off the earth, untethered, weightless. He bounces, laughing, crazy with it. Even Ellis waiting for him doesn’t put a dent in his mood. He snaps off his crispest salute. 

 

He finishes a little late, he keeps taking long breaks to examine his helicopter. It's his now, Ellis is just going to have to live with that. Rodney's not teaching so John assumes he'll be home, but when he walks toward his car someone whistles at him. He turns, and there's Rodney, stood grinning. John jogs over and hugs him, laughing, calling him mad and gorgeous and such an ass. 

 

“I'm gonna love you until I'm dead and then some, and I plan on that not coming for such a long time,” John mumbles into Rodney's shoulder. “Holy hell, Rodney.”

 

“Yeah, pretty much,” Rodney says, sounding smug.

 

“Say it back. I want to hear it,” John says. He never asks, he never needs it, Rodney says it a billion ways. He just bought John a rainbow paint job, it's kind of clear. But…

 

“Of course I love you, very much,” Rodney says, obligingly, not questioning it. “Home?”

 

John nods. Rodney drives them, ranting about someone who's peer-reviewing an article. It's supposed to be anonymous but it's Rodney so he knows who it is. There are only about three people in the world who can truly peer-review Rodney's work. John watches him, feeling like he's taking off and flying. He falls asleep and dreams that he really is flying, nothing but air beneath him and sky around him and Rodney. 


End file.
